


Don't Make Me Kill You

by htebazytook



Category: Star Wars RPF
Genre: Drunken sex, Filming, First Time, Humor, M/M, PWP, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-24
Updated: 2008-08-24
Packaged: 2017-11-07 08:20:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/428900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/htebazytook/pseuds/htebazytook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>My first RPS, and I feel horribly, horribly guilty for subjecting Ewan to my slashy mind.  Half-hearted apologies to George Lucas.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Don't Make Me Kill You

**Author's Note:**

> My first RPS, and I feel horribly, horribly guilty for subjecting Ewan to my slashy mind. Half-hearted apologies to George Lucas.

**Title:** Don't Make Me Kill You  
 **Author:** [](http://htebazytook.livejournal.com/profile)[**htebazytook**](http://htebazytook.livejournal.com/)  
 **Rating:** NC-17 (very much PWP)  
 **Disclaimer:** <\--  
 **Pairing:** Ewan McGregor/Hayden Christensen  
 **Author's Notes:** My first RPS, and I feel horribly, horribly guilty for subjecting Ewan to my slashy mind. Half-hearted apologies to George Lucas.

 

 

Ewan was watching Hayden. On some level he understood that he was physically attractive, or at least that others found him so. The problem was that he was too bloody girly-looking—the eyelashes and mouth, but girls went for that sometimes, it seemed. Oh, what _ever_. At least Ewan was capable of growing hair.

"Your new Empire?" Ewan intoned, as Britishly as possible, bracing himself for Hayden's next line.

"Don't. Make. Me. _Kill_. You."

"Anakin, my allegiance is to the Republic! To—ehm—to you know, the thing with the people and the voting. Yeah. _Okay_?" He laughed and jogged off the set and back on, wiped the grin from his face and folded his hands neatly in front of him. "And don’t make me kill _you_ , either," he admonished, back in character, and shook a finger at Hayden.

Hayden's fearsome scowl evaporated into laughter. Ewan could hear a few of the crew snickering as well. He just couldn't seem to get through that terrible line of Hayden's without fucking up after. Ah well, at least he hadn't burst into laughter just from hearing it. Yet.

The lines were certainly a dilemma, but you couldn’t exactly go up to George— _George bloody Lucas, the man of my childhood dreams, for God's sake_ —and request that he hire a writer to throw some big boy words into the script. Ewan didn't understand it—the man seemed in possession of a vocabulary, had good ideas, and yet couldn’t seem to put the two together. Ah well.

"Just start from Hayden's line, guys."

A pause.

"Don't make me _killll_ you . . . ?"

Ewan tried and failed to suppress his amusement and there was definitely laughter in his voice now. "Anakin, my alleg . . . iance. Gosh, you know, Anakin, you're right! I do apologize—your new Empire, indeed. Now, darling, let us run off and join the Dark Side and we can be together forever!" he cried, rushing to Hayden and waltzing him around the green set like it was a ballroom. He had Hayden laughing so hard it was silent but he nevertheless let Ewan lead him twirlingly over to George. When they came to a halt Hayden grabbed Ewan's shoulder for support as they both gave in to the undignified art of cracking the fuck up.

George raised an eyebrow.

Ewan caught his breath. "Oh, God, I'm sorry, George. I'm clearly not feeling the Mustafar vibe today. Dammit, sorry, okay, okay, this time I'll be a good little Jedi. Sorry."

George just nodded and suggested they do half the scene with Ewan facing Hayden's back.

Naturally, Ewan had been desperately curious to know if Hayden was in fact a decent actor after witnessing him try to work with such fantastic lines as "Don’t make me kill you." Ewan was lucky—as long as he sounded like Alec Guinness he was golden. And he didn't seriously believe Hayden lacked talent, just dialogue; he'd never felt that Hayden couldn't sense what Ewan was doing with a scene—they played off of each other constantly. When working with, well, substandard actors it was always difficult to keep oneself from being dragged down with them. But at the same time he always felt bad if he seemed to have stolen a scene he wasn't necessarily meant to have. He wasn't stupid—he knew it had happened a few times with Hayden, but there was no use fussing over it . . .

He sighed as he trudged back on set, found himself eagerly awaiting the day they could exchange "dialogue" for stabs, thrusts, and all that was purely physical.

 

 

*

 

 

Hayden tried to feel what Ewan was doing better this time. The lines couldn't be helped, and he took a perverse pleasure in really going for it in each and every one. And hey, why not?

Anyway, focus. He was supposed to be watching Ewan. And he did.

After a few more takes, Hayden had decided he just didn't see what all the fuss was about. Ewan had a weird nose and random moles, he wasn't deadly, smolderingly hot like, I dunno, Johnny Depp. It must have been Ewan's personality that drove girls nuts. The accent, the singing, the irrepressible grin, the infectious laugh. Hayden could appreciate that. But Hayden's appreciation of Ewan's personality wasn't coming from afar, from the other side of movie screen or with the hormones of a teenage girl. And besides, he figured if any of Ewan's fawning female fans actually _knew_ him they wouldn't be nearly as twitterpatted.

Hayden laughed to himself. _Holy random Disney movie terminology, Batman. What the fuck?_

"Well, well, well. What has our leading man here _giggling_ , of all things? Does the Dark Side indeed have the infamous cookies I hear so much about?" There was Ewan, having bounced up and slung an arm around him. Hayden was almost completely unfazed by Ewan's casual invasions of his personal space by now.

"Haha, nothing. Just kinda tired. Hey, nice hair, man," he said, poking at it. It seemed to Hayden that as soon as Ewan stepped off set his hair returned gratefully to its customary spiky disposition. Come to think of it, he wasn't really sure how the make up people managed to tame it day in and day out.

Ewan batted his eyelashes and said in his most stereotypically homosexual tone, "Oh, thanks, honey!" and twisted his hair upward where it miraculously stayed put.

Hayden laughed. He desperately wanted to know what combination of substances left his co-star so routinely hyper.

Ewan laughed the aforementioned infectious laugh, pure joy leaking from every pore.

"So, Hayden, are you too serious and professional to go for a drink with an old bugger like me?"

Hayden laughed some more. It was hard not to with Ewan. "You even have to ask? Jeeeez. Hell yeah I'll come get hammered with you, my Master!"

"Excellent!" he grinned.

 

 

*

 

 

A few hours later (make up, wardrobe, bad mobile reception, driving two very uncool rental cars) found them not at a bar, but somewhat more lamely at Hayden's rented studio apartment. And because Ewan didn't trust someone as not-Scottish and twenty-two years old as Hayden to have anything other than watery beer, they had to make a pit stop at the most out of the way convenience store possible—Sydney was well aware of Star Wars and not even Ewan's epic beard could disguise the both of them. The place they'd settled on displayed a large neon sign that proudly proclaimed "BEER" which Ewan heartily approved of—short, sweet, and to the point, really.

Hayden's flat was embarrassingly clean. The only thing that dared suggest sloppiness was Hayden's other pair of jeans slung over a hard chair meant to be with a table. The bed neatly made. There was a special place for snacks on the counter and no dishes in the sink. And when Ewan opened the fridge he saw it was stocked only with bottles of piss, as predicted.

"I usually just drink water," Hayden shrugged, rummaging around in a drawer in search of something to open Ewan's dark, classy bottle of whisky with. He was opening his mouth to tell him he hadn't supplied his temporary living space with a bottle opener of any description when Ewan popped beside him, poured two glasses. "Don't be a pussy, okay?" Ewan told him, hand briefly on his shoulder. He took a glass and retreated to the bed. Hayden followed, little thrilling instinct insisting there was always something implicit about sharing a bed with somebody else, never mind why.

Ewan oozed confidence, lying there with his little nest of pillows propping him up, face totally guileless. Vulnerable, Hayden thought. But somehow in control. Always, always happy. Drugged. Scottish. And, beard.

Ewan downed the drink in short order, expressive eyebrows showing his pleasure in it. His eyes were closed and Hayden found himself studying his eyelashes, pondering not for the first time Ewan's eclectic hair color scheme. Blondish brown but not quite red except in some places, and then darker on his arms, and back again to translucent sandy eyelashes. Hayden found he needed to swallow before speaking, and for want of anything intelligent to say, just quipped, "We're gonna need a bigger glass," and hoped for the best.

Ewan laughed, eyes springing open. "Nice. Why don't you fetch one for me? That's what padawans are for isn't it? Handy little slaves, really." He placed his glass in Hayden's hand. "Now, move along." He said that last as Obi-Wan and waved his hand imperiously.

Hayden had drained his own glass in an effort to keep up with Ewan and the exceedingly unpleasant tang of unadulterated alcohol persuaded him to switch back to his beloved Budweiser.

"Aw, y'daft Canadian novice," Ewan lamented, but brightened impossibly when he saw what Hayden had in his other hand. "Oh, Hayden, you're my Jedi knight in shining armor, you are!" he proclaimed, leaning in to kiss his cheek theatrically and secure the brimming glass in the same movement. Ewan settled back in his pillows and cupped both hands around his prize, looking for all the world like a little kid except for the beard and slightly unfocused eyes.

Hayden couldn't suppress his smile—he was drinking with Ewan McGregor and couldn't help feeling pretty damn cool, never mind how insane Ewan was—Ewan let escape a little _mmm_ of contentedness which startled Hayden a bit inexplicably. He took in a generous mouthful of beer, too intent on it to feel the eyes on him.

Over the rim of his own glass, Ewan watched Hayden's dusky lips hover over the neck of the bottle and his dirty mind couldn't help but be mesmerized. He snapped himself out of it with more whiskey.

"Sorry about today, Hayden," Ewan spoke into the silence. "I dunno why I'm suddenly unable to keep a straight face." There was real self-deprecation under that nonchalance. It made Hayden feel like he was spying on something private and he tried to shrug it off.

"Aw, don't sweat it. I'm usually this far away from cracking up every time you or Natalie talks about 'younglings'. When he gets it in a few takes I'm okay, but if he gets picky I'm sure I'll embarrass myself. Eventually." Hayden felt like he was babbling. "But anyway."

"Oh, my God! That's right, you don't say it!" Ewan's brain spun too quickly, but Hayden was mostly used to its zippy, entangled trains of thought by now. "Count yourself lucky—haha _ha_ , you're a right bastard, y'know that? _Honestly_." Ewan shook his head. A gleam in his eye, now. " _Hayden_! I think I shall take it upon myself to hang about the set and call out 'younglings' whenever you're tryin' ta work." His grin was so ridiculous. He froze like that for awhile and laughed at Hayden's immobility and then patted Hayden's leg, a warm heavy weight.

Ewan was staring into space, mind clearly busy jumping around like a constant cranial version of Frogger. He ran a hand through his hair.

"My agent—who is, I might add, rather more maternal than my actual mother is—thinks I'll get restless after we're through with Star Wars. I dunno, she could well be right." Hayden was truly impressed with the amount of alcohol Ewan was gulping. It just kept disappearing, not even thinking twice about it . . . "And so I've been looking over this action flick, and yeah it might be a bit of a sell-out move, but hell, I'm not gonna lie, I just fancy playing against myself—oh, there's all this, like, clone stuff, y'know? Yeah. Fantastic fun. And I get to drive a flyin' motorbike! Yeah!" He grinned. "But enough about me. Your agent hook you up with anything new and juicy yet? I know for a fact you'll be bored out of your mind after we do the fight." He took another considerable mouthful of his drink.

Hayden swore a new syllable fell prey to Ewan's accent with every swig. Ewan poked him. "Hello-o? Earth to Hayden!"

"Oh." Hayden stared at the spot on his leg Ewan had touched before. "Yeah—uh, no, I mean. Nothing new, I mean. Heh."

"Oh, my _very_ young padawan learner," Ewan sighed. Then he laughed as an afterthought and sipped his way closer to the bottom of his glass.

Ewan didn't quite get it, but Hayden was loathe to disappoint him. "I kinda just wanna break from all of this stuff. For a little bit. Like, to clear my head." Ewan couldn't argue with that, escapist motorcycle enthusiast that he was.

Instead he pulled Hayden into a random hug. Ewan never allowed any hint of melancholy while he was around, deftly sweeping discord under the carpet.

"Cheers, Hayden."

Hayden felt unbalanced by the soft timbre to Ewan's voice. "Cheers."

 

*

 

"Drinkin's _bad_ , Hayden, ya naugh'y boy."

"Look who's talkin'! You invited _me_ , you bitch."

"Bitch?! I am noe-bo-dy-s bit-ch, 'Ay-den," Ewan said with great dignity, although it came out sluggish and tragically over-pronounced.

Hayden chuckled and looked down, studying the elaborate insignia on his third or eighth bottle. "'Nyway, thought you gave it up, 'nyway." He'd been slightly confused about that this whole time.

"Hahahaha! There's givin' it up and _thean_ there's givin' it up, y'know-what-ah-mean?" Ewan shook his head and downed the remainder of his glass. When he could see again Hayden had just lifted his head up and it startled him into a giggle. Hayden ducked his head. Adorable.

Ewan took back what he'd said/thought about Hayden being girl—he was far from girly with his broad chest and hockey enthusiasm and muscles outlined through his shirt. No, he was much more boyly—that's what Ewan had meant. With his voice and large eyes and baffling shyness.

Meanwhile, Hayden was deciding that Ewan's beard made him especially unsexy. Unlike his eyes which sparkled ridiculously. Weirdly placed beauty mark that he watched when Ewan's eyes crinkled with his pretty much permanent flashy smile, and his eyes, and Hayden had never noticed it but they were actually really really beautiful up there above his weird nose and beardedness.

Ewan couldn't fathom why it was that Hayden had stopped talking. He looked to be in a kind of drunken stupor, really. Very well then. Hayden's eyes were—what was the word they always used? almond-shaped? sure, whatever—almond-shaped and the greener side of indefinable and Ewan was _inspired_! Hayden was still oblivious and dead-looking so Ewan decided to sing.

" _Those cool and limpid, green eeeeyeesss! A pool wherein my, love lies. So deep. That in my, search-iiing for happiness, I fear!_ " He kept making these dramatic pauses, knowingly corny—two words which described Ewan himself pretty adeptly, now that Hayden thought about it . . . " _. . . will ever haunt meee, all through my life they'll, taunt meee. But will. They ever, want mee green eyes! Make my dreams. Come. True!_ " He'd caught Hayden's eye and laughed a bit too loudly for his eardrums' liking. "Ah hang on, hang on—" he gasped, trying to stop the onslaught of laughter. Hayden just watched him work, feeling fairly floaty himself. Ewan cleared his throat and continued in an immensely entertaining falsetto, " _Well, green eyes with the, soft liiiiights, and eyes that promise sweet nights . . ._ "

Ewan sang on, albeit drunkenly, but Hayden was nevertheless entranced. He hadn't seen Moulin Rouge in ages and when he had, certainly hadn't noticed how ridiculously clear and expressive Ewan's singing voice was, the pure tone reminded him of like, like a clarinet or something and the way his mouth shaped words commanded him to hold his breath, just waiting to hear how every nuance was realized.

Ewan was still holding out _eyes_ in the refrain when Hayden started kissing him and it hummed through his lips. Ewan's lips were soft (he didn't know what he'd been expecting—that they wouldn't be just by virtue of belonging to a man?) and Hayden didn't even register his facial hair until he touched Ewan's face because it felt equally soft against his skin. Okay, maybe a little ticklish when it brushed his lips as Ewan's moved on to Hayden's jawline and being so close to him was oddly arousing considering Ewan's general disregard for personal space. Having what had always seemed implicit in Ewan's proximity, to his North American sensibilities at least, follow through to its natural conclusion when it had missed the opportunity so many times before was what made it hot. There had been anticipation Hayden wasn't even aware of at work. Ewan's lips were back with his own, Ewan's hands at the back of his neck, his head, holding him there to have his mouth ravished. Ewan was a fantastic kisser. So passionate, he didn't hold back, but neither was his tongue caught up in Hayden's tonsils. He'd found a happy romantic medium and his hands seemed unable to stop moving with a smooth brand of jerkiness all over Hayden's torso.

The breaths in-between their mouths sounded in their voices and the combination and the closeness and the nowness made Hayden's heart race. Very damp here. Ewan kissed him again, tongue melting into his. Hayden heard him moan and responded by pulling him closer by his t-shirt and adding more force to the kiss. Wet, kiss-specific noise when he pulled away that made everything seem very real. Ewan's eyes were wide. Hayden supposed he must have looked very predatory right now and reached for him again.

Ewan's mind had already been swimming with the alcohol, but now it was downright drowning. He was so dizzy with sensation he had to clutch at Hayden's clothes to stay upright. And Hayden was remarkably enthusiastic, those hands roaming over him—it felt possessive and Ewan shivered at that, moaned when Hayden's mouth found the best spots on his neck, ears, nips at his lips.

And Hayden couldn't quite believe he was making out with _Ewan Mc-fucking-Gregor_ , really making out with him, and couldn't help feeling pretty damn cool. 'Achingly hard' being a more accurate term. 'Cause this was real, remember, not pretending like with all the fine and talented actresses in Ewan's movies Hayden wanted to categorize as lucky bitches. And who gives a shit if you're drunk or not? Ewan didn't, which was good enough for him.

 

It was beyond Ewan how Hayden was able to manipulate advanced jean technology in his current state, especially while kissing him like this, but was very appreciative of his skill when he managed to succeed in tugging them out of the way. However he then proceeded to avoid the area altogether, which Ewan had _not_ been counting on. His hands traced Ewan's sides, his mouth along Ewan's collarbone where he'd jerked his t-shirt down so it dug into the back of his neck but that was okay. Hayden's hands developed a secretive little choreography that seemed to spiral toward his sudden arousal only to retreat in accordance with some very cruel agenda. Ewan's shirt kept snapping back into place as hands mapped his chest firmly, slid under his shirt a bit and the shock of skin made him gasp. Hayden's hand edged toward his cock again only to detour to the insides of his thighs, other hand thumbing over a nipple disarmingly lightly and mouth suctioned to a wonderful spot on his neck. Ewan knew he was well and truly at his mercy for now . . .

Hayden slid down his body. That heated mouth painting moist constellations lower and lower. Ewan couldn't help anticipating, hips twitching unconsciously. Hayden's hands and tongue pressing patterns every which way into Ewan's overheated skin nowhere near his cock and this was the exact opposite of allowed.

" _God_ , I really wish you'd jus' make up your mind."

Hayden considered, drunkenly. "I think I 'ave th'solution."

"Yeah?" Ewan was becoming slightly lost in his fantasies, panting.

"Yeah. I'll blow you, bu' then, y'know, then y'hafta blow me too. Too. 'Kay?"

"Yeah, okay, deal, fantastic, now can you please— _uhh_ , uh huh . . ." Wow wow wow wow tongue and mouth on cock, so good, knew what they were doing, _so good_ . . .

Ewan didn't think Hayden had done this before but there were simply no cons to be had if somebody took it upon themselves to go down on you. No siree, Bob. Ewan had to squeeze his eyes shut and let his mouth fall open and try not to be too pathetically enthusiastic but just then Hayden's tongue did something acrobatic that made Ewan moan. And once it started he couldn't stop the stream of sound, heard it surging to a desperate pitch whenever Hayden sucked blissfully hard and now he was involving his hands as well, and do you know, Ewan still wasn't entirely sure why all this was happening. Aside from the obvious culprits (these being alcohol and Hayden's astonishingly wicked mouth). If, for example, it had been Charley or Jude or someone it would've been entirely different, but Hayden wasn't one of Ewan's best mates and that made every move so much more significant. Maybe Ewan was still channeling characters from his recent past, although the idea of being wholly in character as Joe Taylor wasn't terribly appealing. Bad train of thought there. _Maybe_ it was all some long-dormant fantasy about Darth Vader and domination. Or maybe he just wanted Hayden Christensen with his lovely eyes and talented mouth and . . .

Ewan was quite mindless by this point, and even he was aware that the notions bouncing around the inside of his skull made little sense. He was cool with that, but he was also becoming inspired again and he didn't care, didn't care about who . . .

"Hey, Hayden, um, can we amend the, _ahh_ , th' thing? Deal?"

"Wha?" Hayden stopped what he was doing to look at him through his long girly eyelashes which Ewan was now finding incredibly sexy. His cushiony lips brushing his cock as he spoke, poised like they'd been over the bottle . . .

Ewan pulled him up, unsure where the sudden strength had come from, and basically threw him onto the bed, crawled over him and licked up his neck to his ear. "Yeah, I was thinkin' . . . how about I just fuck you instead, mate?" he growled, waited for the shivery lustful response that would surely merit . . . and didn't. Ewan raised his head and looked at him.

"What the fuck, are you serious?"

Ewan was displeased, to say the least—he fancied himself capable of successful seduction, on occasion—but decided the best course of action would be to take it in stride and push and push until he got Hayden to cave. He really wanted to see Hayden in abandon, and he really wanted proper sex, well as close as you could get, you know? Hayden was slithering out of reach, looking dazed and intent on finishing what he'd started.

Ewan caught his chin. "Come here," he suggested, eyes glinting, but pulled Hayden up onto the bed again without waiting for an answer and undid Hayden's fly while he reeled from the sudden motion and soon Ewan's hands were quelling any protests.

Hayden melted, shifted his weight onto his arms behind him, trying to remain mostly upright. " _Ah_ . . ." His eyes closed and his brow furrowed.

Ewan grinned and licked at the side of his neck while he pleasured him, paying attention to the head and starting to speed up.

"Oh, uhhm . . . oh."

"Yeah?" Ewan murmured against his skin.

"Yeah . . ."

"Ha _ha_." And then Ewan disappeared and Hayden saw and _felt_ —ohh how was this happening?—his tongue on his cock, which was way too fucking much to survive together like that. . .

Ewan hadn't really thought about this sort of thing before. Well, no, that was a complete lie. He just hadn't done it. It was terribly exciting, he had to admit, not to mention great fun, really. There was that element of power behind it, and he liked that, and there was an element of imagining how it would feel which really turned him on. He was surprised by how knowledgeable he felt about sex with a man just by virtue of being one.

He licked around the head for awhile, still moving his hand, and was contemplating something more but realized how awkward it would be while he was doubled over on the bed like this, and so he slid off it, abruptly reminded of his continually impaired sense of balance in the process. But Hayden held the covers down like a paperweight so grabbing onto them didn’t end in disaster. He pulled himself back up and found Hayden looking vaguely around for him, gave a little wave and dragged Hayden closer and went back to turning him to jelly. Hayden's cock, not that Ewan had seen terribly many up close, didn't really remind him of his own, which was good because if it had that would've made the whole affair pretty undeniably weird. He licked up and down the underside, tracing the rest with light fingers before taking some into his mouth, making sure to really suck on it, because, no way around it—always felt better. Thinking about breathing he took more in and was annoyed when he felt the muscles in his face begin to protest so soon. He was gaining a new respect for people who did this on a regular basis. It was funny how he was so driven to succeed in this, so determined to give Hayden the best blow job ever, despite alcohol-numbed appendages and inexperience. He almost laughed but realized just in time that doing so with a cock in his mouth wouldn’t be very wise.

Meanwhile Hayden was thrashing and gasping and Ewan was almost disappointed he didn't grab his head and try to control things. Whatever. Ewan synched up his breathing and moved his head himself, sucking hard or swirling his tongue around randomly when he got tired.

Hayden groaned. "Ohfuck, fuck, you're, fuck, so fucking good at that. _God_. _Ewan_ . . ."

Ewan looked up, flicked his tongue just under the head.

" _Ah!_ "

Muahaha—little did he know it was all an elaborate diversion. Ewan almost always got what he wanted. Not that he was petulant about it—he simply had a way of believing in what would happen until the people around him started agreeing. And they were quite often happier that way, in the end. So it was okay.

To his annoyance, Ewan's nose was threatening to run. This was hard bloody work. He stole an appraising glance up at Hayden—yes, he was just unsuspecting enough for him to—

"Ah!" Hayden repeated, more in surprise than sexual rapture this time.

Ewan had launched himself at Hayden, pleased to have kept his power secured during the transition, and yanked his shirt off, making Hayden's body jostle around. He was on top of him practically before Hayden's head hit the mattress, captured Hayden's wrists and the way their hands bounced up and fell together was strangely intimate considering the darker, tantalizing overtones in the movement.

Ewan had really wanted to slam Hayden against the headboard but didn’t feel confident enough in his own ability to remain upright. Hayden was squirming, which was, Ewan decided, a tolerable and wholly delicious plan B. He couldn't help laughing quietly. He thought it was wonderful to tumble dizzily around on a bed with Hayden. Once Ewan had successfully straddled him Hayden moaned, hips shifting and Ewan grinned and slid his hands surely up his chest, just observing. Let them trail back down and settle over his hips, then travel back up while he slid down simultaneously to taste Hayden's cock again for a moment, delighted in the sound that pried out of him. Those noises were making Ewan more lustful by the minute, less curious and experimental and, y'know, Ewan hadn't really stopped to think about the delectable hue to Hayden's skin before. It possessed a glowy tan without being obnoxious or, I dunno, Hollywood. He was crawling up Hayden's body now, enjoying the impatient little movements against him.

Hayden's hands couldn't resist Ewan's ridiculous hair which begged at all times to be messed up even more, and Ewan made a pleased noise when Hayden's fingers started to sift through it and lurched up from his naval to place his mouth over a nipple and breathe hotly over the taut skin before his tongue came out to play, and _God_ if that didn't go straight to Hayden's cock. Hayden didn't care if his hands tightened in Ewan's hair and urged him closer roughly because it was Ewan's own fault that he was still reeling from his aptitude for sucking cock. Ewan's tongue had a variety of pretty incredible settings and currently fluttered over Hayden's nipple and he wasn't entirely prepared for how sinfully good it felt and gasped and begged with his hips rising and hands clenching which Ewan didn’t seem to mind at all.

"Oh," Ewan was breathing, eyes sliding closed as he continued his ministrations. He looked, rather appropriately, drunk.

After an eternity of this Hayden felt his arms being extracted and pressed to the mattress again and Ewan's mouth meandered over to other, neglected nipple and that meant Ewan's hardness, which he'd miraculously forgotten about, was pressed more directly against his own now. And the next time Hayden's hips sought upward Ewan rocked back and kept doing it.

"Yeah?" Ewan muttered, his lips still glued to Hayden's skin.

" _Mmmm_ -hmm . . ." Hayden's breathing was very loud.

Ewan's steely eyes rolled briefly, slid back into his skull. He coaxed another delirious sound out of Hayden with his tongue before his mouth disconnected with a wet noise and Hayden seized the opportunity to flip them over neatly, wrenched Ewan's jeans the rest of the way off.

Ewan was more than happy to oblige. It wasn't often waif-like French women pinned you down without hope of escape. Yes, he was fairly certain neither of them had been this muscular before lightsabers became a part of their waking lives. His eyes roamed over Hayden's toned arms—Ewan _loved_ Star Wars. Once he'd been freed he let his fingers glide over Hayden's chest, panting with his previous exertions and not really paying attention to what Hayden was doing until he felt a large hand gripping his cock deliberately too hard and pumping steadily. Calluses, ahhhhhhh, fuck they felt really good didn't they? Oh, Ewan _loved_ Star Wars . . . And he could still taste Hayden in his mouth and _fuck_ that turned him on.

Hayden bit at his neck, what the fuck? Did it again, ahhh, fucking Canadian vampire but it did feel good, _oh_ , it really did and he was so close to begging for absolutely anything Hayden wanted to do to him . . .

"Don't make me kill you," Hayden said. It was by far the best take yet.

"Ohhhh, you're _goin'_ to . . ."

"You like this?"

"Ngk!" Ewan replied eloquently. Every part of his body strained for release. Enough was enough. Hayden looked _so_ self-satisfied with the situation and Ewan started to laugh but Hayden was pumping him relentlessly and it evolved into a string of unceasing _yes_ es, breathy and inarticulate and soon he was gritting out his encouragement and gripping Hayden or sheets or anything that presented itself really until his breathing evened out and slowed and he supposed he'd come, peeled his eyes open long enough to glance down and confirm his suspicions. Oh, good. He sighed and stretched like a particularly debauched cat.

It took him a minute to recognize that Hayden was still hot and panting and wild, so different from the drifting soft-focus world Ewan inhabited. He realized in some part of his late brain that he'd been well and truly bested, in the end. The best laid schemes gang aft agley, and all that . . . he was looking at Hayden. So wanton looking, he was, and suddenly Ewan didn't give a flying fuck about getting what he wanted.

He pried his sticky body away from the clutches of Hayden's bed and maneuvered a very willing Hayden up and back against the headboard (all of this was in slow motion, by the way) until he had a shivery glistening mass of eye candy overlaying physical strength and desperation to play with.

He needed to be close to somebody, which was clearly the afterglow talking, but whatever. Pressed his forehead against Hayden's, slippery with sweat, watched his lust-dark eyes flutter up close, feeling hypnotized. Let his hand fall to stroking Hayden's cock, felt good in his hand and Hayden's little high-pitched exclamations stole Ewan's limited breath. Watched his eyes close and flatten long dark lashes against burning cheeks. Sweat drizzled at his hairline. Restless sinuous body. Hayden moaning. Lovely. Hot.

Ewan pressed his face into damp skin. "Oh, come for me," he breathed.

Hayden couldn't argue with that.

 

 

*

 

 

It took Ewan ages to find his phone without turning any lights on. The fun new blurry quality to his vision after sleeping in now dry and irritating contacts didn't help. It was moments like these he filed away to psych himself up for impending eye surgery. _Oh yes, very important, the ability to sneak around after a drunken one-night stand,_ he thought. _Very noble._ And it really didn't help that he couldn't identify with any certainty the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. Ewan thanked his lucky stars he'd awoken first—he'd no idea what to say to Hayden. He just _did not do_ this sort of thing anymore . . .

His phone had slipped out of his jeans, and his jeans had scrunched at the foot of the bed, probably a result of his own kicking during the night. He patted his pockets for wallet, keys, other keys, wished society deemed it acceptable for men to tote around purses because Ewan sometimes lost things when he sat down or wanted a pen or tissues or whatever. He shimmied into the jeans, soothed somewhat by the familiarity of their fit.

It was then that he spotted his shirt, trapped effectively underneath a comatose, still quite naked Hayden. Hayden, who looked far from angelic in his sleep, sort-of snoring, hair falling weirdly around his face, Ewan's shirt not budging an inch when he gave it an experimental tug. And, of course, it wasn't just any shirt, it was the green Nashville t-shirt he was in the process of wearing to shreds, the kind of shirt you always wanted to throw on even if you had a dozen logically better choices, the kind of shirt that would be pretty obviously his to leave behind.

"Oh, just . . . _fuck_ it," Ewan whispered fatalistically for himself. He tip-toed around the creaky parts of the floor he'd discovered in the hunt for his shoes until he stood before Hayden's dresser. God, did it look clamorous with its lack of handles and formidably heavy-looking, numerous drawers. He worked his fingers around the corner of the first drawer and heard the beginnings of a godawful squeak, dropped it and left it well alone. Stepped back, sighed for probably the twentieth time and number twenty had little more success in calming him than its predecessors. Looked around. Surely Hayden's spotless apartment wasn't as spotless as it had appeared last night. Maybe under the bed . . . ? Nothing. Absolutely nothing there. Bloody freakishly organized Hayden—there wasn't even a handy jacket on the back of the door, there was only . . . oh, just fantastic. There was only Hayden's shirt from yesterday clinging to the edge of the bed. Just laying in wait for him, beckoning and maliciously assuring that neither of them would be able to pretend nothing had happened if Ewan reached out and took it.

 

*

 

"Took your time, didn't you?" Nick greeted someone. Ewan wasn't paying much attention—he'd been buried in his book for the good part of an hour, and was exceptionally involved in it by now. Then, however, it was Hayden's voice that mumbled an apologetic response, and Ewan cursed his heart for racing and his mind for flooring him with angst and a side order of mild arousal. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Well, of course Hayden had to come eventually. Come on set. _Come to the set_ —there we go.

Ewan had debated long and hard—oh, goddammit—about detouring back to his hotel to change but he'd been running late after the long line at Starbucks and the traffic. If he'd known he'd end up waiting another hour and a half for Hayden he would have altered his schedule accordingly. Bloody Hayden. Refreshed, clearly caffeinated Hayden with clean clothes, probably from the formidably squeaky dresser drawer of yester morning . . .

"Hey . . . uh . . ." Hayden seemed to be having trouble remembering his name. "Ewan. Um."

Ewan parked his expression firmly in neutral before raising his head, convincing himself that he was not actually looking at Hayden even as he met his eyes. Such determination he had! yet it slipped away entirely when Hayden's whole face flushed red.

"Hey," Ewan said, kicking himself for how lamely it came out.

"Yeah, hey. How are, uh . . . you?"

"Good! Yeah. I'm good. I'm all . . . fine! Here. Now. Thank you. How are you?" Ewan grinned, glad to have hit on something at last.

Hayden got the strangest look on his face before he laughed. "Oh, uh. I'm, I am. Good. Yeah. Thanks! For asking. Coffee," he finally blurted by way of explanation and Ewan sighed in resignation. When recycled lines of Han Solo's failed to save them from death by awkwardness then the future was black indeed.

They regarded each other with fixed nervous smiles and Ewan's running commentary went _Where's Nick? Where's Nick? Where's Nick? Where the fuck is Nick?_

 

Ten minutes later saw them walking through the fight, having fallen back on Nick's constant stream of commentary for support. One, two, step, step—it was just like dancing except for the part where they were trying to kill one another. And fuck, when had banging their lightsabers together become so sexual? Okay that was a really stupid question . . .

It was like Hayden hadn't realized Ewan at work and Ewan in bed were the same person before. He _knew_ what that mouth felt like, the heated, knee-weakening words it might utter. And those brief curses Ewan spit out when he forgot a parry or a turn conjured leftover moments from the night before in Hayden's wandering mind. Ewan's breathing was very audible from their exertions and it echoed in the bare room even after they'd stopped when Nick ran out to take a phone call. Probably George. Script shit, probably.

Seriously though, Hayden couldn't keep ignoring Ewan staring at him in such a way that if it went on for long enough Hayden was certain he'd be compelled to start tearing his clothes off. It was the slight hunch to Ewan's shoulders, maybe. Or the way his hips led his walk. No, more accurately a stalk. Predatory edge, tempered with sparkly eyes. Everything about him screamed, 'fuck me'—although this was Ewan, so something more like 'Oh, _swoon_! Take me now you dashing Jedi stud!' followed by a thoroughly cheesy laugh that would weaken Hayden's knees as effectively as any combination of heated words.

Hayden closed the distance between them, dragging Ewan into motion by the front of his stolen t-shirt. "You didn't have to take my shirt as a memento," Hayden remarked, his boldness clearly a surprise even to himself. "One: nobody would look twice at _you_ walking down the street half-naked. And two," and he leaned in for this: "there are other, better things I have to offer."

"Like _my_ shirt, you mean," Ewan deadpanned, and it took all his might to keep from grinning or molesting Hayden on the spot with that smirk on those lips.

Hayden laughed, completely out of character.

 

*


End file.
